Here the valet and maid had already arrived, and the sitting-room was full of flowers, and everything was ready for dinner and the night.
"I suppose we dine at eight?" said Zara haughtily, and, hardly waiting for an answer, she went into the room beyond and shut the door.
Here she rang for her maid and asked her to remove her hat.
"A hateful, heavy thing," she said, "and there is a whole hour fortunately, before dinner, Henriette, and I want a lovely bath; and then you can brush my hair, and it will be a rest."
The French maid, full of sympathy and excitement, wondered, while she turned on the taps, how Miladi should look so disdainful and calm.
"Mon Dieu! if Milor was my Raoul! I would be far otherwise," she thought to herself, as she poured in the scent.
At a quarter to the hour of dinner she was still silently brushing her mistress's long, splendid, red hair, while Zara stared into the glass in front of her, with sightless eyes and face set. She was back in Bournemouth, and listening to "Maman's air." It haunted her and rang in her head; and yet, underneath, a wild excitement coursed in her blood.
A knock then came to the door, and when Henrietta answered it Tristram passed her by and stepped into his lady's room.
Zara turned round like a startled fawn, and then her expression changed to one of anger and hauteur.
He was already dressed for dinner, and held a great bunch of gardenias in his hand. He stopped abruptly when he caught sight of the exquisite picture she made, and he drew in his breath. He had not known hair could be so long; he had not realized she was so beautiful. And she was his wife!